Heart on the Run Read Online Free

polished finish. Dermot was an asshole for doing this. Probably thought he was giving Chaz something great…
    “ And it is a great opportunity.”
    Too bad you’re too big a coward to pursue it.
    “ I am not.”
    Then call him, sweetie.
    Chaz picked up the tequila and slammed it down, spitting the jalapeno ring back into the glass. His eyes watered and he sputtered. “Revolting.”
    It was a good word. Applied to both the action he’d just taken and the choice he was forced to make. If he didn’t take this chance that Dermot had handed him, who knew when the next opportunity would come along? Liquid courage in place, he picked up the phone and thumbed the number four again.
    It rang once, and in the interminable length of time it took before the second ring, Chaz had to fight off the urge to hang up a dozen times. His thoughts were so swift, so contradictory, so at odds with what he knew and wanted… Hanging up was the best option. The second ring came.
    “ Sprocket…I need to ask a favor.” He tested the words…recognized their inevitable lameness.
    The line rang a third time.
    “ Please don’t answer,” Chaz whispered, dipping one finger into the tumbler and chasing an ice cube. “I can just leave a message…”
    A fourth ring.
    He deflated, exhaling a loud breath, feeling himself shrink to nothing in the leather armchair. A message…what to say…
    So finally it’s just me and you…you know what to do …
    “ Uh… Sprocket, this is Charles. I mean Chaz. I…uh…” Damn it! He was always, always able to carry his end of a conversation! That was what damned cotillion had been about, all those years of twirling girls in puffy dresses and spiky shoes and making polite conversation. Inhaling deeply, he persevered. “I…Dermot and Xander asked me…I mean us… And well, you’ve seen my place. Xander is supposed to be talking to you… But anyway, I need to see your kitchen.”
    He had barely disconnected the call when his phone rang. Chaz wished for another drink, actually considered refilling his glass before answering the phone.
    Because you’ll live so much longer if you pickle your liver in alcohol, won’t you? Just like Uncle Rick, huh?
    “ Hello?”
    “ Why do you need to see my kitchen?”
    “ To see if I can cook there.”
    “ If you try just a little harder, you might make sense. Oh…my bad. You’re Charles Darwin Millsworth…maybe we should stick a number on there at the end…just because…you don’t have to make sense.”
    “ I—” Taken aback at the attack, Chaz searched for words. “They want to have a party, for the employees. We’re supposed to host it, you and me, and I’ll cook, but you’ll have to do the decorating and—”
    “ You’re kidding. I can’t host a party. Unless there are kegs involved. I can do kegs.”
    “ No. A real thing. Not a frat boy thing.”
    “ I’m not, and never have been, a frat boy, though they do throw some pretty fucking awesome parties, they just don’t know when to go home and keep calling up the morning after asking stupid things like…” He put on a lazy surfer drawl, not quite as slow and sweet as Chaz’s mom’s Southern belle routine, but definitely not his own rapid-fire tenor. “Bro, I was so totally wasted last night and I’m not wearing any pants…did anything happen I should know about?”
    “ Ah hah ah.” Startled by his own laughter, Chaz sat upright. “I mean…”
    “ Yeah,” Sprocket’s voice returned to normal…or a tense, hard form of what used to be his normal tone. “So what fraternity were you in again?”
    “ I went to the CIA. I wasn’t in a fraternity.”
    “ Oh, my bad again. I just confused you with the frat boys because…no wait…”
    “ This isn’t about us, Sprocket.”
    “ Is there someone else there?”
“No. I just meant… Xander’s your boss. Dermot’s my boss. They can’t host both the Craft Time staff and the Alimentaire staff in the upstairs apartment.”
    “ And